Recovery
by Sebastian the Mercat
Summary: After Nathan is released from jail, he's having a hard time - he has nowhere to go, and the trauma he has experienced has left him a shell of who he used to be. However, when he hits his lowest, help arrives from an unlikely source.
1. Chapter 1

**_Salutations! This is very depressing!_**

 ** _Warnings: Murder, character death, rape/non-con, dub-con, abuse, attempted murder, PTSD, trauma, sickness, medical shit, RECOVERY_**

 ** _As a separate warning I have no idea how court shit works, and same goes for jail/prison. Don't even try to correct me on the timeline or specifics of when things happen, just go with it._**

 ** _Important Note: This was written after the release of episode 5. This follows the "sacrifice Chloe" ending._**

The sky was steel grey, as Nathan stepped outside for the first time in five years. The air was cold, biting, the icy snow blowing wildly as he slowly made his way down the walkway away from the Arcadia Bay jail.

He didn't look back.

The past five years of his life had been hell - not that he hadn't deserved it, he mused. He had been lucky, in his first year: That entire year, he had hardly been around the other prisoners, spending most of his time being interrogated, or in court. It had been stressful, sickening, to listen to their actions listed out in such a straight-forward, professional way. In spite of that, Nathan still plead guilty to all his actions.

He had been tired of lying. Plus, they said if he plead guilty, he would only get five years in jail, instead of nearly sixty. He wasn't stupid - he took the deal. Unfortunately, he also took the baggage that came with that deal.

They called him a murderer, a sex offender, in the papers. He had to sign all these forms, saying he confirmed everything on them was true. He also had to testify against Mark Jefferson.

It had been harder than he thought. It was true, that he despised Mark with every inch of his being...but he loved him just as much. Nathan had spent the last several years trying to forget the horrors of Jefferson's trial...but in the dark of night, when the nightmares and the voices became too much, Nathan could only curl up and cry, the memories of that trial causing him to feel a pain so intense, he could feel it in his bones.

Three people had testified: Max Caulfield, Kate Marsh, and himself. The girls had been so professional, so...strong. In comparison to them, he felt like a coward: The minute he took the stand, he rambled, just letting it all spill out. He told about all the girls, what had happened...he ignored their questions about his relationship with Mark, because even he didn't truly know what it was they had. However, when he ran out of words and the weight of one particular stare became too much, Nathan finally looked up, meeting Mark Jefferson's eyes.

And then he broke.

Nathan didn't remember much, only that Jefferson looked disappointed in him. The rest of that day was lost in a veil of pain and agony. He woke up the morning after to the shaking of a nurse, only to realize he was in the jailhouse's hospital, his face and arms covered in self-inflicted scars and scratches - however the dull ache of those superficial wounds was nothing compared to the heaviness that had settled in his heart. In that moment, he thought he had hit his lowest.

The subsequent four years made him yearn for those days in court.

It had been exactly as he expected - he was a little fish in a big pond surrounded by big fish. It took less than a day for him to be beaten and raped, in the laundry room. It had been bad - he ended up in the hospital for about a week, after that - but it wasn't the worst thing that happened to him whilst he was in there.

After all, Mark was there. Though the guards tried their damnest to make sure Mark and Nathan were as far away from each other at all times, Mark was charming, manipulative. Somehow, he always managed to pop up in Nathan's life.

Mark didn't touch him for the first two years - granted, Nathan was in high demand because he was so small and young. However, as time wore on him, and he grew thin and sickly looking, his once- bright eyes and soft hair dulling, as he began to look like just another washed up criminal, Mark swept in.

Nathan knew Mark was bad. He knew Mark hated him, for all he said in the courtrooms. He knew Mark was the reason he was in this entire mess in the first place.

But he also knew Mark was warm, when his arms wrapped around Nathan...and nights in the prison got oh-so cold.

Nathan didn't want the sex, but he didn't even feel he had the strength to protest anymore. Mark used him, and went on his way. Nathan longed for everything to stop, and at the same time he longed for something more.

He knew it was wrong, very wrong. In the same vein, he also had no one to tell him what was right.

He received no visitors, not one, in during his entire sentence. He knew his father had disowned him right after the trials - and as such, Nathan had received no therapy, no treatment, as there was no money.

So there he was, just falling back into old habits, bad habits that would only end with his own death.

And it very nearly did.

By that point, at the beginning of his fourth year, Mark was behaving like he always had - gentle when he was happy with Nathan, brutal when he wasn't. He had been lingering longer after their sessions, arms wrapped around Nathan. Nathan hardly bled anymore, and he had actually felt minute pleasure, during their last round.

Mark asked him, once, during a meal, to meet him in the laundry rooms later. He gave Nathan a soft smile, the one that always caused Nathan's heart to jump, as his fingers lingered on Nathan's shoulder.

When Nathan got down there, the rooms were completely abandoned - or so he thought. He was knocked out quickly. He woke up for short periods of time, when Mark was brutally ripping his clothes off, when he was thrusting into his immobile body, and when he was shoved into the clothes drier, bleeding out from the cuts covering his beaten body.

He was found a couple hours later, barely alive. He never saw Mark again.

Nathan knew Mark had planned the whole thing all along - a subtle revenge on Nathan, crescendoing up into one final move towards the endgame. Jefferson had seen Nathan talk in that courtroom, saying everything but the details of their own relationship...he had sensed Nathan's weakness as easily then as he always had. And he had used it.

Deep down, Nathan had known.

He never fully recovered from Jefferson's attack. It had been brutal - the man had beaten him so thoroughly, that the internal damage was as bad as the external. Not to mention the oxygen deprivation, from being stuck in the clothes drier for so long.

For that entire last year, Nathan's memory was speckled with periods of unknown, where he wasn't sure what had happened. His brain worked slower, making processing hard and making communicating even harder. For a while, even walking was a challenge...even as he stepped out into the freezing January air, Nathan walked with a pronounced limp.

Nathan kept his head down, as he made his way away from the prison, his long hair falling in his face. He knew he probably looked pitiful, wearing only the white cardigan he had worn when he was arrested and a pair of faded jeans and sneakers, especially considering the snow storm that was getting progressively worse. To be honest, he couldn't give a shit.

He had no plan, no idea as to where to go or what to do. He hadn't seen a person outside of the jail's walls for five years - he had no family, no friends. No place to go. No money. No food, no shelter, no nothing.

Nathan bowed his head lower as the wind picked up, causing the snow to pound against his hunched back, as he slowly made his way down the road, into the darkening night.

He jolted as a car suddenly sped past him, spraying him with freezing slush. The force of the ice hitting him caused him to loose his balance slightly - which in combination with his bad leg and the already-slick road, caused him to fall into the snowy ditch.

Nathan breathed in and out, his breaths shuddering as he stared up into the falling snow. He was acutely aware of his clothing becoming damp from the snow, as well as the shivers racing through his body becoming even more intense. He knew he needed to get up, to keep going...but as he laid there, the snow flakes hitting his slowly numbing face, he couldn't help but wonder what the point would be.

He swallowed hard, his eyes aching...but he knew he wouldn't cry. He hadn't for years. Instead, he rolled his head to the side, looking through the falling snow and leafless branches of the woods, catching the soft golden glow coming from down the road.

Slowly, agonizingly, he rolled over onto his knees, before climbing to his feet. He swayed for a second, blinking as his vision came in and out of focus, before he stepped onto the road once more, a destination finally in mind.

OoO

Arcadia Bay hadn't changed all that much, in the time he had been gone. All the stores and houses were still covered in the same chipped paint, faded and peeling. The cars parked around were still from the 90s, still rusty. The only real difference was the snow on the ground, and the fact that there were left over Christmas lights still dangling everywhere.

Nathan shivered, making a path down the abandoned sidewalk. He wasn't sure why he came back - it wasn't as though he had anyone or anything left for him there. However, when he saw that soft comforting glow of the lights from the town reflecting across the Bay, he almost felt he had no choice but to return.

Plus, he felt himself becoming weaker - if he would have tried to go anywhere else but Arcadia, he probably wouldn't have made it.

As if on cue, he stumbled slightly, only able to stop himself from collapsing by grasping ahold of a nearby wall. He shuddered, his eyes darting around in desperation - he needed to get out of the storm, and quick.

The sound of a slamming door caught his attention. Nathan glanced down the alleyway he stood at the mouth of, watching as a person made their way back inside a door. He bit his lip, knowing it would be a stretch to beg for a random stranger to shelter him. But...he was desperate.

Keeping a hand on the wall, he made his way down the alleyway, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Just as he made it to the door, his legs finally gave out from under him, causing to fall, banging his shoulder against the door, rattling it in its frame.

He winced at the noise and at his own weakness. He had hoped to merely ask the person within the door if they were willing for him to stay in wherever the place was for the night, and if they said no, he would move on. As it were, he was too weak to even stay on his feet any longer - the best he could hope for was whoever was inside that door to take pity on him.

Muffled talking came from inside, before the door opened, flooding the dark alleyway with light. Nathan squinted up at the shadowy figure, aware of how he must have looked, with his shivering form and his long dirty hair and gaunt face. He hoped whomever was standing above him was a kind soul.

"Wha-" a woman's voice began, before abruptly cutting off. "You..."

Nathan froze, recognizing the voice. The woman standing above him shifted, so he could see her face.

Nathan recognized her as the hostess of Two Whales diner, true, but he recognized her from his trial even more.

Joyce Price. Chloe's mom. The mom of the girl he murdered.

Nathan flinched violently away, trying to climb to his feet. However, his bad leg wasn't cooperating, shooting pains darting from his toes to his hip. All he could do was push himself back against the opposite alley wall.

Joyce stepped out into the cold without hesitation, a look of pure fury painted across her face as she came to stand over him.

"What the fucking hell are you doing here?" she snapped. Nathan's jaw worked, his brow furrowing as he tried to concentrate on talking, but she interrupted him before he could. "Shouldn't you be rotting away?"

Nathan sunk the nails of his left hand into his shaking right hand. "Ah... I... g-g...got..." Nathan tried to force out.

Joyce didn't seem to be listening though. She leaned down, her face inches from his as her hand violently jerked him forward by the collar of his shirt.

"I want you gone from here," she growled lowly, her eyes burning. "I want you gone, and if I ever see you again, I will destroy you."

Nathan shuddered at her proximity and the threatening look shining in her eyes, his hand spasmed wildly, causing him to sink his nails into it deeper, drawing blood.

Joyce's furious face remained close to his, her mouth twisted into a snarl. Only then did Nathan realize she expected him to reply.

"A-ah...ah u-uh-um...I...sor...ah..." Nathan gasped out, his chest heaving. To his horror, no matter how much he tried, the words refused to come out.

Joyce's face melted slightly into something besides anger, at seeing the desperate look in Nathan's eyes. "What is wrong with you?" she snapped angrily, but with curiosity.

Nathan once again opened his mouth, but this time his jaw tensed and quivered so thoroughly, he couldn't even form a sound - he could only gasp, as his breaths quickened to an unbearable pace.

The door to the alleyway opened further, another form stepping out into the cold. A gruff voice filled the air, causing Nathan to freeze. "Joyce, what the hell are you doin' out here in this weather-"

Nathan flinched violently, causing Joyce to finally release him. He wished desperately to be able to climb to his feet, to run and get away. He wished desperately to even be able to curl his body inwards, to hopefully minimize the damage done to him. He wished he could form the two-word-sentence we wished so desperately to be able to say to the people in front of him.

However, Nathan couldn't do any of that. He merely laid there, collapsed against the wall as the snow continued to fall, staring up at the parents of the girl he murdered.

For the first time in years, Nathan allowed a singular tear to drip down his cheek, before his vision tunneled and he fell into darkness.

 ** _A/N What a happy first chapter! In any case, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review for little old me!_**


	2. Chapter 2

Nathan's hearing came back first, though only partially. He heard the distant drone of a television, soft conversations being held in the distance, the rattling of a heating unit...sounds so close, and yet so far, just vaguely out of Nathan's grasp as he tried to remember how he came to be where he was.

Wherever he was.

Feeling came back, then. He was reclined on something cushioned, smelling thickly of warm leather. Speaking of warm, the desperate cold he remembered being surrounded by when he was last conscious was replaced with a pleasant heat, not overbearing, but it did the job. Though the typical aches of his head, back, and leg made his slouched position rather uncomfortable, Nathan couldn't complain - anything was better than the ache of the cold metal cot he laid in every night in prison.

The voices grew sharper along with all the other sounds around Nathan, signaling that he was finally able to fight his way to consciousness. He moaned softly, turning his head to the side, his eyes slowly dragging open.

Light filled his vision, so bright it caused the ache in his head to pulse. He tried to bring his hands up to his eyes to rub them, only to pause - his hands were bound.

Nathan forced his eyes open, fighting against the brightness until his eyes adjusted. Discreetly, he turned his head slightly, looking around. What he saw caused his heart to skip a beat.

He was slumped in a booth at Two Whale's diner, his back and leg quirked awkwardly, as though he had merely been thrown into the booth and left there. It was dark outside, besides the falling of the snow outside, and as such, the diner appeared to be empty.

Nathan shifted slightly as the memories of what had happened came back to him. He swallowed hard, once again shifting, trying to alleviate the pain shooting through his body, however, his movements caused the booth to creak loudly. He froze, his entire body beginning to shake.

Frank seemed to suddenly appear in the booth beside his, his eyes narrowing as his met Nathan's watery blue ones. "Joyce, the brat's awake."

The door leading to the back of the diner swung open, but Nathan was surprised to see David Madsen exit instead of Joyce.

Surprised and terrified.

Nathan immediately held up his hands, which he noticed had been cuffed together, his mouth quivering open, apologies on his tongue. "Ah...ah-"

David slammed his hand down on the table beside Nathan, the sound causing him to flinch slightly. "Shut the fuck up. Officer Berry's on his way, punk." Nathan shuddered as the grown man leaned even closer to Nathan. "Consider yourself lucky that Joyce is more level-headed than me, because if it wasn't for her, I would have put a bullet through your skull."

The proximity of the other man was causing Nathan's heart to stutter, his breathing quickening - if the man moved his hand an inch, he would be touching Nathan's shoulder.

The thought of someone touching him caused Nathan to nearly gag.

Luckily, David chose that moment to pull back, turning around. Joyce's voice echoed from the back, tinged with irritation.

"What do you mean?" she snapped. "He's not your problem?! Well he's certainly not ours!"

David growled lowly, heading for the door. Joyce, as though sensing his approach, quickly exited, a phone pressed to her ear.

"I can't believe this!" she exclaimed in fury, gesturing wildly with her hands.

"What is it?" David asked.

Joyce pressed the phone to her chest, silencing the microphone. "He said that the Prescott boy's five years are up, so he's free to go," she hissed. "That he's not "their problem"."

"Well he's sure as hell not our problem," David snapped.

"That's what I told him," Joyce sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes then flickered open, darting over to Nathan.

He tensed, his hands clenching into fists, shaking in fear. He bowed his head, unable to meet her eyes.

"Call his scum of a father," Frank suddenly suggested, his hand lightly cuffing Nathan over the back of the head. Nathan flinched violently from the touch, hunching his shoulders. Frank didn't seem to notice, as he carried on speaking as though nothing had happened. "I bet he would scrape his dearest little boy's ass off the pavement."

Joyce snorted derisively. "Already asked. Apparently the Sean Prescott dropped his ass, and didn't even visit him in prison...probably the only good decision that man has ever made. They tried calling when he got released, but he didn't want to deal with anything related to him."

"Maybe _you_ should try callin' him," Frank suggested with a shrug. "Threaten to beat the kid's ass or somethin'."

Nathan swallowed hard, forcing back the bile rising in his throat. In spite of the fact he knew how his father...was...it still hurt him deeply to think about how his father could so easily toss him aside. He also knew, even if Joyce threatened such a thing, that Sean wouldn't give a damn.

After all, it wasn't as though Sean hadn't done similar things himself.

"I'm not doing that!" Joyce exclaimed. "And have the Prescott foundation on my ass? We're struggling enough as it is."

"Then what the hell are we going to do, Joyce?" David said, sounding more tired than anything in that moment.

"I don't know," she snapped back.

"Well, ya'll gotta do somethin'," Frank muttered, standing up and heading for the door. He threw on a dirty looking hat, zipping up his coat. "'Cause havin' that brat around is doin' nothin' for my appetite."

Joyce glared at him fiercely. "I don't see you offering up any suggestions."

Frank shrugged nonchalantly. "Throw him out into the blizzard. He ain't any of our problems." Frank glanced back at Nathan, an ugly sneer on his face. "Who'd give a fuck if that monster died anyway, hm?"

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, letting their voices carry on, but refusing to understand their words. Distantly, he heard Frank leave, and David and Joyce continue their debating. The pleasant warmth he had felt upon immediately waking up had vanished completely, leaving him cold and achy. Thinking back on it, maybe it would have been better if Nathan had just ignored his body's needs for rest and warmth, instead pushing on through the blizzard.

Maybe it would have been better if he collapsed in the middle of the street, blacking out.

Maybe it would have been better if he drifted away from the pain of the world, going into his final sleep...

Joyce's voice suddenly broke through his trance. "I don't care what you have to say. I'm tired of standing around here and arguing about what to do with that piece of shit." She took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm calling Sean Prescott, because I'm ready for all this to be done, you hear?"

"Ha...heh... he... h-he won't..." Nathan suddenly forced out, his voice quiet and raspy. He took a deep breath, trying to control his speech. As normal, his tongue and mouth weren't cooperating with what his brain was thinking, and judging by the harsh looks he was receiving, he really needed to focus and get whatever he was thinking out fast. "H-he...won't come...f...f-for me..."

Almost simultaneously, David and Joyce crossed their arms, staring down at him. David growled out, "The fuck happened to your voice, kid?"

Nathan tensed, his jaw quivering, but Joyce interrupted anything Nathan might have said. "What makes you think that he won't come?" she questioned, her voice surprisingly level, not flowing with hatred.

Nathan's eyes whipped around to train on her. Though her face was stoic and posture firm, the pure fury and resentfulness that had been radiating off of her was far less apparent. Instead, she looked...slightly curious?

Nathan swallowed, working his jaw slightly, before saying, "H...he never...nev...nev-v...er... ca...red...about...m-me..." Nathan slumped back against the booth, breathing heavily.

Joyce's hand tightened around the phone she was still holding in her hand, quickly looking away to meet David's eyes. There was something unreadable in his eyes, as he turned away from Joyce, looking at Nathan himself.

"Then what would you suggest we do with you?" he asked gruffly, a slight warning in his voice - if Nathan said something wrong, David would be on him in a second, ready to literally kick the boy out of the diner.

However, Nathan had no intention of doing what David expected - he had no intention of begging the parents of the girl he murdered to help him out in any way, whatsoever.

Instead, Nathan slowly, painfully sat up, a cold sweat breaking out on his face. Once he made it to his feet, he leaned against the booth breathless, favoring his bad leg as he held out his cuffed hands to David. "I...if you... w-will... un...uh-uh...do th-these...I...I w-will... g-go..." he whispered, head down and eyes half-lidded.

David's eyebrows shot up, before furrowing once more. "Go? Go where?"

Nathan hesitated, pulling his cuffed hands back close to his body. "I...I don't..." He shook his head. Why were they even asking? Weren't they just threatening to throw him out into the blizzard?

Joyce raised an eyebrow. "You think you would survive our there? It's a blizzard out there."

Nathan's jaw clenched so tightly, that it ached as badly as his leg. He stiffly shrugged, eyes trained on the ground.

Joyce suddenly brought the phone to her ear. "No...everything is fine. You don't have to rush down here, in this weather..." she paused, as Officer Berry said something in reply. "No...just..." Joyce sighed heavily, letting her head drop. Nathan looked up at her slightly, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, how much older she looked after five years. Glancing at David, he noticed that there was a fair amount of grey coloring his mustache and hair as well, and the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced.

Seeing both of these people, and the pain he had caused reflected so clearly in their faces...Nathan felt his stomach flip, his vision beginning to tunnel once again.

However, he was saved from collapsing on the ground by David, who must have seen the color drain from his already pale face.

"Ah...Officer, I will call you again tomorrow," Joyce said quickly, hanging up the phone. David quickly maneuvered the younger boy back onto the booth, as he blinked slowly up at the lights. She stood back as David checked him over to make sure he wasn't going to black out again, her eyes trained on the young man.

In spite of her hatred for the boy, the way he was acting was unnerving to her. She had believed that she would never see her daughter's murderer ever again - she had HOPED she would never see him again. However, fate just never seemed to work out quite right for her, what with William's death, Chloe's murder, and now this...seeing the person she hated the most in the world.

However, the emotions, the pure undiluted rage she had been waiting for to flood her senses...it just was not forthcoming.

Of course she hated him - she more than hated him. But...the number one emotion she was feeling in that moment, was not hate - but curiosity.

Watching as David continued to check the boy over, she couldn't help but wonder one thing: What happened to Nathan Prescott?

 ** _A/N I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! In any case, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review if you so desire!_**


	3. Chapter 3

David had to steal himself against the fatherly instinct threatening to bubble up within him, as he carefully checked over the boy; he had to force himself to feel cold, to school his face into an uncaring facade as he checked over the boy to see if there was any obvious injury that was causing the boy's apparent dizzy spells. Or maybe his slurred, stuttering speech. Or that awful limp.

Instead, David pulled back, looking to Joyce, who had been staring at the two of them with a strange expression on her face. When their eyes met, they stared at each other for a moment in pained silence, and David immediately felt a small sense of relief that Joyce was apparently having similar feelings to those David was feeling.

After all, David was a protective man - he always had been. When he was a teenager himself, he would always be the one to stick up for his friends against bullies, even when the bullies were much bigger and more numerous than himself. Later on, when he joined the military, he always put his life on the line for the sake of others, never leaving a person behind (even when that person ceased to breath). Even now, as a security guard at a high school, he was incredibly protective of the students, always going out of his way to make sure each and every one of them was safe. He was almost protective to an obsessive degree, one could say.

That's why, even to this day, it disturbed him that a man like Mark Jefferson had been conducting a nasty business right under his nose. It disturbed him that he had kidnapped countless girls, taken them to that room of horrors, and abused them in unimaginable ways. It disturbed him that Rachel Amber had been murdered months before they found her body.

It especially disturbed him that Nathan Prescott, a participant in this nasty business (willingness or unwillingness aside), the one to do the kidnappings, the murderer of Rachel Amber, had been walking around the campus as though nothing were wrong with the world.

But...he hadn't, had he? David had noticed the boy mumbling to himself. He noticed the way Nathan would occasionally fall into an almost psychotic state where he would fall against walls, rocking back and forth as he clawed at his arms and face. David noticed the way Nathan acted twitchy, his eyes darting around in a suspicious, or maybe scared manner.

David noticed all these signs, these signs of trauma and an unstable mental state, and yet he had done nothing.

It hadn't really been his decision. Early on, within the first few days of Nathan having arrived at the school, David had tried to voice his concerns to the principal. However, Wells had motioned for him to close the door, before he informed him that they were not in the position to do anything about Nathan. That it was better to ignore what was going on right in front of their eyes, rather to try and confront and perhaps solve the issue.

And now Chloe was dead.

To say David blamed himself would be an understatement. In spite of the countless reassurances from everyone around him, he still felt awful, unending guilt bubble up within him from time to time. Sleeping was hard, functioning at his job was even harder. Some days it was hard for him to leave the garage, as he threw himself into his hobby, trying to forget.

And worst of all, David was completely sure that Joyce somewhat blamed him. Oh, she never said anything - Joyce was too kind a person for that. However, sometimes he felt her looking at him when she thought he didn't notice, a strange expression on her face.

After Chloe died, Joyce and him hit a rough patch. David was trying to be strong for the both of them, but that's not what Joyce wanted nor needed. She needed someone to cry with, to grieve with. She needed someone to scream with and who needed holding just as much as she did. But David didn't function like that.

Alone, David would cry and scream and punch inanimate objects until his knuckles were bloody. But as soon as another person was around, experiencing just as grievous emotions, David would shut down, and instead focus on comforting that person, rather than focusing on his own emotions.

Joyce didn't want that.

For a year, they hardly slept in the same bed. But after that year, that year of those horrible "first times withouts", the healing finally began. They began talking, talking more than they ever had. They expressed their emotions to each other, explaining how the felt. Joyce would tell funny stories about the insane people that wandered into the diner, and David would rant his frustrations about Blackwell. Somehow, over the last few years, their relationship that had always been on the brink of falling apart had became stronger than it had ever been.

That's why, when David's eyes met Joyce's, he could immediately tell what she was thinking. However, he was unwilling to move forward, to speak the words that both he and Joyce were willing, though hesitant, to speak.

Joyce indeed looked as hesitant as David felt. She continued to look between Nathan, his feverish face and glazed eyes, and David, who looked at her with understanding and pain.

Joyce, like David, was a very caring and protective person. Though she could be blunt, that was just who she was - everyone around Arcadia Bay thought of Joyce as a mother of sorts, always willing to help someone in need, always willing to lend an ear. She was a good woman, a nice person with maternal instincts to rival anyone's.

However, with Nathan Prescott, she felt conflicted. One one hand, this boy was sick. Very sick, in fact. He was pale and sweating, and he had been wandering around in the snowstorm with only a thin sweater to shield him from the cold. He had probably caught a bad cold, at the very least. On top of that, the boy appeared to be having trouble with doing simple tasks, such as talking and walking - his voice was weak and stuttering, the boy seemingly being unable to form a proper thought and voice that thought. Looking closely at Nathan, she could also see the awkward, almost painful way he held his leg, how stiffly he laid back against the booth, his back ramrod straight.

He was a child. A child that was sick and hurting, and that brought out Joyce's maternal instincts. He needed help, he needed protection...

But at the same time, he was a murderer. Not just any murderer, but the boy that killed her daughter. He killed her daughter, and was the very reason she felt that need to protect and nourish everyone around her. He was a criminal, a drug dealer, kidnapper, and a murderer. For those facts alone, not even looking at the details of the situation, Joyce hated this boy. She hated him and she wanted him to suffer for all the crimes he had committed. She wanted him to be tortured until he could hardly walk, until he could just lay there, whimpering weakly as he gazed upwards with glassy eyes, craving death.

Granted...that's where he was, wasn't he? Was he not laying there, suffering, at their proverbial feet? Was he not at the edge of death, with them being the only hope to jerk him back to the land of the living?

Joyce wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about much anymore. However, she knew one thing: If she let this boy stumble out into that snowstorm tonight, she would be no better than him. After all, wouldn't letting the boy die when she could have saved him been a murder in its own right?

Without further hesitation, she spoke. "Prescott." His head lulled slightly, his eyes gazing at her with an unreadable emotion swimming in their depths. She had to take a deep breath, before she spoke once more. "We will...provide shelter for you tonight, as we do not want to be responsible for your death. That's it, though. Tomorrow, you're out of our house, and we never wish to see you again. Do you understand?"

In spite of how harsh and cold those words came out, a small bit of relief filled Nathan's eyes, his body becoming slightly less tense. His jaw opened slightly, quivering, as he stuttered out "Th...th-th...ah..."

However, David interrupted him by giving him a firm look, growling, "Don't thank us, boy. We're decent people, and any decent person wouldn't let someone die if they had the ability to help them. Even if it is someone who doesn't deserved to be saved." The unspoken "like you" hung on the end of that phrase.

Nathan gave a small, weak nod, but that small movement seemed to sap the last remaining energy out of him, as he laid his head back against the booth, his eyes falling shut.

And in spite of both David and Joyce's harsh words, they both shared a look of thinly veiled worry as they stood over him.

 _ **And now that we have the inner-thought exposition, now we can move into the fun part. Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!**_


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